A Day in the Life
by MaverickLover2
Summary: One Twenty-four hour period in the life of Bart Maverick. After all, how much trouble can one man get into in that length of time?
1. Six AM

A Day in the Life

Chapter 1 – Six A.M.

It's a God-awful time of the morning, isn't it? It doesn't matter whether I'm still up from a night of poker or just riding into town from somewhere else, no one in their right mind should be up at this time of day. Yes, that implies that I'm not in my right mind, because I usually am awake at this time of day. Or night, if you prefer.

Today was no exception. I'd just laid down three tens after some drunk cowboy that wouldn't know the difference between a spade and a shovel called. Oh, I forgot. You don't know me yet, do you? My name is Bart Maverick, Bartley Jamison Maverick if you want to be precise, and I'm what's known as a professional gambler. I don't like that term – it implies that I actually gamble. I don't. I play poker for a living. Five Card Draw, mostly, although I have been known to indulge in Five Card Stud on occasion. Pappy and Uncle Ben call Stud 'practice' rather than poker. Sorry, you don't know them, either. Pappy is Beauregard Jefferson Maverick, Uncle Ben his younger brother Bentley Jonathan Maverick. I've got one of those myself, although I'm the younger of the two. Brother Bret is Breton Joseph Maverick, and if you call him anything other than Bret he'll get mighty disgruntled.

Brother Bret is slow to anger. Disgruntled is usually about as upset as he'll get; I wish I had a little more of his restraint. As Bret always says, "Easy, Brother Bart. You're too quick to temper." That's not his only attribute. Besides being a relatively placid person, he has a great sense of humor. I like to think I do, too. He's got killer dimples, which he got from Pappy. I missed that particular part of the Maverick anatomy. Although one young lady did refer to me as 'the man with the dancing eyes.' So there, Dimple-boy.

Anyway, the cowboy called when all he had was a pair of Kings. He'd been part of the poker game since about one a.m., and he was drinking long before that. I have to admit, he seemed to have an awfully big capacity for whiskey. I still don't understand how a man can sit and drink that stuff all night. It smells bad and tastes worse. And if you have more than one or two you can't see straight. Literally.

He was smug with his pair of Kings. Wrong attitude when you're playing poker. Somebody could always have a better hand, and in this case, I did. When I laid down the tens he seemed to take it as a personal affront and implied some sleight-of-hand manipulation. Which would have been extremely difficult under the circumstances, being that I wasn't dealing. Please take notice of the fact that I say 'difficult' and not 'impossible.' Pappy taught me and Bret all the tricks of cheating, it's just that we don't use 'em. I said don't, not can't. Cheat me and I'll cheat you back.

Now, under normal circumstances, if you accuse someone of cheating, you usually have a good reason for it. The cowboy's only reason was that little glass of bad-smelling liquor he'd been drinking all night. Bret and I have been playing poker the honest way so long that we have to cheat each other just to stay in practice. So the cowboy was WAY out of line. But I was tired, and just wanted the game over so I could go back to my hotel room and that lovely looking bed.

Two of the additional three men at the table pulled slowly away, waiting for one or the other of us to draw our guns. As Bret is fond of saying, he's the second slowest gun in the West, and he can outdraw me. So if somebody was going for their pistol it sure wasn't gonna be me. I put both of my hands, my empty hands, on the table. The cowboy had eased his Colt out of its holster and aimed, but not cocked, it. "You might wanna rethink that last accusation, mister before you go shootin' up the place. Particularly before you go shootin' up me since I'm not gonna draw on you. I happen to like breathin.' If you don't wanna keep doin' that, there's plenty a men out on the street who'd be happy to accommodate you. I don't happen to be one of 'em."

I just sat there. Risky, I know, but I had the feeling this whole scene could be diffused with a little common sense. Fortunately, I had some help in that regard. The one man still sitting at the table was the town sheriff, Milt Braithwaite. "Put the gun down, jackass. Maverick don't cheat. Him I know. You I don't. The only one I'm gonna run in at this table is you. Ya got five seconds to get reasonable, or ya can spend the next twenty-four hours sleepin' it off."

Fortunately for all involved, the cowboy decided to be reasonable. I let out a breath and looked at Milt. "Thanks, Sheriff. I appreciate the support."

He nodded, and then added, "Really don't wanna have'ta explain all that blood to Declan. He hasn't forgiven me for the last one I killed in his saloon." That would be Declan Savoy, a fairly reasonable man who happened to own the 'Bawdy Lady' saloon, the establishment we were sitting in the middle of.

Declan was a personable fellow who'd tried, on more than one occasion, to get me to go in partners with him on a bigger, grander 'Bawdy Lady'. Declan always retained his sense of humor, and no matter how many times I turned him down he'd just smile and say, "One of these days you're gonna say yes and I won't know what to do."

"One a these days I may surprise both of us," I always told him. Declan had become a friend over the years; not as good a friend as Doc Holliday, but one of the few men I trusted when push came to shove.

Back to the cowboy. After he put his gun away he looked at me like I was a crazy man, or worse, a stupid man. "Still think you was cheatin'," he muttered as he stood and picked up what was left of the money in front of him. "This ain't over. I'll see you sometimes when you ain't got a bodyguard." I'd say he walked out of the saloon, but that would be inaccurate. He staggered out of the saloon and headed downwind.

"You have trouble like that often?" Milt asked.

"Too often," I answered. "I took to carryin' this as a little insurance." I opened my coat just far enough for Milt to catch a glimpse of the Remington derringer and its shoulder holster.

Milt shook his head. "Well, I'd say somebody pushed a little too hard or a little too often, knowin' how you feel about those pea-shooters. Sit back down, gentleman, let's get this game finished."

The other two poker players had evidently had enough, because they picked up their money and declined to be seated. I'd had enough, too, and was more than happy to call it a night. I drank the rest of my coffee, my drink of choice, and was about to push back from the table when Declan himself walked in. I groaned, knowing full well there was another assault on my sense of business coming. A big grin split his face and he walked right over to my table and stuck out his hand.

"Bart, old friend, I thought you weren't due for another day," he said enthusiastically as he pumped my hand for all it was worth.

"Dec, I wasn't. I was cordially invited to leave town under my own power rather than some other way by a most disagreeable man with a badge. If you're ever in Goodson, Nevada, keep that in mind. The local law is very unfriendly."

"How much did you win from him?" Declan asked, knowing why I was usually escorted out of town.

"Not that much," I answered good-naturedly. "Less than three hundred dollars. Would you throw me outta town for less than three hundred dollars, Milt?"

Milt shook his head and laughed. "Nope. Not over that kinda money. Now if it was five hundred I might." Milt got up from the table and stretched. He'd been sitting there since about midnight and he was stiff. "Boys, I've got to go. Cora'll expect me home for breakfast. I know better than to disappoint her." Milt tipped his hat and left.

"Sit down, Declan," I told the saloon owner. "Have a cup a coffee with me."

He looked me in the eyes and the grin vanished. "Don't have time for coffee right now, Bart. I've got some business to take care of. How about we meet at 'Big City Diner' at eight o'clock? Will that work for you?"

I nodded. There went my dreams of bed, at least for the foreseeable future. "Sure, Declan. Anything I can help with?"

"Maybe. I'll know by eight o'clock. I'll see ya there, okay?"

And he was gone. Declan was a big man, about my height but forty or fifty pounds heavier, and I had no idea he could move that fast. Or look that grim. I pulled out my pocket watch and looked at it. A quarter of seven. Well, if I couldn't sleep in the bed I could at least go visit it. And get some of last night's trail dust off of me.

It might have been moving towards seven o'clock in the morning, but the city of Reno was still asleep. That was one of the nice things about this town. The term "sleepy" could still be applied to it. The farmers and sheep herders existed on the outskirts of Reno, but the town itself was more suited to nightlife than daytime. There were three or four good size saloons, in addition to 'Bawdy Lady,' and several excellent restaurants, besides the local diners. Even the shops and stores in town opened late and closed late. And the hotels were, for the most part, elegant and cheap.

That was one of the beauties of Reno. Lots of places to play, or eat, or sleep. I had to walk a whole twenty feet across the street to get to my hotel, a real classy place named the 'Reno Arms.' Jimmy Fillmore was still behind the desk, yawning as much as I was, and he signaled me over.

"Got a message for you, Mr. Maverick. Somebody left a note with your name on it while I was in the back. Sorry, didn't see who delivered it."

"That's okay, Jimmy. They probably didn't wanna be seen," I told him as I flipped him a quarter. I opened the note while I walked up the stairs to my room.

' _Mr. Maverick – The man that accused you of cheating at cards is my brother Billy. He's threatening to kill you, and I believe he means it. Please meet me in the dining room at nine a.m. and I will explain everything. At the moment he is passed out on my couch, sleeping soundly, so I expect you to be safe at least until he wakes up. Thank you, Laura Sternhagen.'_


	2. Seven AM

A Day in the Life

Chapter 2 – Seven A.M.

Okay, Laura Sternhagen had my attention. So did her brother Billy, evidently the cowboy that wanted so desperately to accuse me of cheating at the 'Bawdy Lady.' But I was going to have to wait two hours to find out why he'd decided to rid the world of this particular poker player.

Dang, I'd forgotten to order a bath when I was downstairs. I can't imagine why, just because I had somebody I didn't even know threatening to kill me. So back downstairs I went, but Jimmy was already off duty and the day man decided I wasn't dirty enough, because he couldn't have one ready until almost eight o'clock. Since I had an appointment with Declan for that time, I decided that cleaning up would have to do. Do you know how hard it is to get trail dust off of a grown man with cold water and a wash basin?

I did my best and decided a shave would help, so I changed clothes and waved a forlorn goodbye to the bed, knowing that I probably wouldn't see it again for a while. Then I left for the barbershop, realizing that was the one place in town open at this time of the morning. At least I didn't have to worry about waiting for a shave and haircut.

A barbershop's a funny place. When it's empty it's as quiet as a church. When it's not, you're lucky to hear yourself think. This was a church morning, and the barber was in a chatty mood. He was also easy to ignore, and I did my best to accommodate him. With time left to kill I decided to go back to the 'Bawdy Lady' and see if Declan had gotten done with his business a little early. The way my luck runs, probably not, but one can always hope. At least I knew how the coffee tasted at the Lady.

Zeke wasn't behind the bar. In fact, there was no one out front at all. But I could hear voices coming from Declan's office, and they sounded angry. There was Declan's, and Zeke's, and a voice I didn't recognize. The longer they yelled at each other, the more hostile they got. Then all the yelling stopped, and an eerie quiet descended on the place. There was trouble coming; I could feel it. I pulled my Colt out and waited, not inclined to go running in where I wasn't invited. Then I heard Zeke yell, "No! Baxter!" followed by two gunshots. I'd just received my invitation.

Declan's office door was locked. Fortunately it wasn't very solid and I was able to get through it, but it wasn't a happy sight that greeted me. Zeke lay on the floor, bleeding but dead from the look of things. Declan had a gun in his hand, but he also had hold of his right arm, having been shot above the elbow. The back door was wide open and I ran through the office and out that way, but whoever had fled through the door had really fled. I still wasn't sure what happened, so my gun stayed unholstered.

As I got back to the office Declan was bending over Zeke, looking for a pulse. He looked up and shook his head. "Where'd you come from, Bart?" was the first thing he said.

"Bad habit," I answered him. "Always early." I pointed from his arm to Zeke's body with the gun barrel. "What happened?"

"It's a long story, my friend. One that I was hoping to share a better outcome for."

About that time Milt came running in, his napkin still tucked in his shirt front. Apparently eating breakfast at home, like he did every morning. "Declan, you alright? Maverick, what happened?"

"I know about three loud voices more than you do, Milt. I've only been here a couple minutes." I finally holstered my gun but kept my eye on Declan. Besides in pain, he looked shaken.

Half a minute later Doc Thomas came through the door, wearing the same kind of tucked-in napkin that Milt had. "You too?" I asked.

"Yeah, dang it, Cora invited me over for breakfast this mornin'. There go my flapjacks. What the hell happened here, Declan?" Doc bent over Zeke to check for a pulse, just as Declan had. He came to the same conclusion and stood back up, to take a look at Declan's arm. "Take off your coat, man. I need to see that arm."

Milt looked at me and I shrugged my shoulders. "Bart, tell me what happened while Doc takes care of Savoy's arm. But do it out here in front, would ya?"

That gave Milt an excuse to pour a shot while we talked. I didn't mind that at all, as I went behind the bar and poured a cup of coffee. "Not much I can tell ya, Milt," I started. "I was supposed to meet Declan for breakfast at eight, but I was early. When I came in they were already in the office with the door closed. They were yellin', but I couldn't hear just what about. There was a third voice I didn't know. Zeke yelled 'Baxter,' then two shots. Door was locked but I broke it down. Whoever the hell Baxter is, he was long gone out the back door. That's it; that's all I know."

Milt poured another shot. "Was Zeke dead when you got in?"

"Yep. And Declan was behind his desk, holdin' on to his arm. With a drawn gun."

"The eight o'clock meeting. Was it social or business?"

"I'm not sure," I told him. "Just to have breakfast. Dec said he had business to finish first. Like I told ya before, I got ready early so I came to see if he was finished. I guess not, huh?"

"I gotta talk to him, ya know. So if you want breakfast, you best go get it now. Come by my office when you're done. Maybe I'll know somethin' more by that time. Baxter, you said?"

"Yep, that's what Zeke called him."

"And you didn't see him?"

I shook my head. "Nope. He was long gone by the time I got in the door." I looked back into Declan's office and saw that Doc was almost done. "I'm gonna tell Dec I'll be by later." I walked back into the office and Declan looked up.

"I assume Milt wants to talk to me?"

"Yeah, he does. I'm goin' to eat; I'll see you later."

"Sorry to drag you into all this."

I had to laugh at that. "You didn't drag me into anything, Declan. I walked in with my eyes open and my gun drawn."

"You probably stopped Baxter from killin' me."

"Yeah, explain all that to me later, huh? Milt's out here drinkin' all your whiskey. Zeke got any family?"

Savoy's turn to shake his head. "None that I know of. I'll take care of him."

I looked at Zeke, lying dead on the floor, and I thought about Harry. Good reason not to be a bartender. "Let me know what ya do, would ya? I wanna be there." That probably sounded strange to Declan; I didn't know Zeke that well. But I hadn't been there when Harry was killed, and maybe I thought bein' there for Zeke would make up for it somehow.

Declan nodded and I left. "See ya later, Milt," I called to the sheriff as I exited the saloon. Milt was busy pouring his third shot. I headed for the diner.


	3. Eight AM

A Day in the Life

Chapter 3 – Eight A.M.

Usually, I wouldn't have gone to have breakfast at the diner; it was too big, too impersonal, and the girls there tended to ignore my rapidly emptying coffee cup. But I went this morning, just in case there'd been a particular reason Declan wanted to meet there. And boy, was there. Tall and slim, with the reddest hair I'd ever seen, and just a splash of freckles across her nose, which happened to look darn near perfect. Big, gold eyes and the cutest smile this side of Denver, she was right there as soon as I sat down. She'd brightened up considerably when I first walked in but looked mightily disappointed when no one followed me.

"Coffee?" she asked as she was pouring a cup.

"Name?" I asked back. She blushed.

"Jenny, Mr.?"

"Maverick," I answered, and her glow came back.

"Mr. Maverick, are you alone or are you meeting someone for breakfast?"

"He's not coming, Jenny," I told her before she could ask. Now she looked worried.

"He's not?"

"Declan? He's fine, but he was shot in his office."

"Oh my God!" she yelped, and I had to reach out and grab her arm to steady her. "What happened? Were you there? Is he alright? Where is he?"

I took the coffee pot out of her hand and sat her down in the other chair. Her freckles had all but vanished as she'd paled, and now she looked up at me pleadingly.

"Slow down, Jenny. I was there after it all happened. He was shot in the arm, he'll be fine. Do you know who Baxter is?"

She shook her head, and a mass of red curls fluttered around her like birds in flight. "Was he by himself?"

Hmmm. Odd question, I thought. "No, Zeke was there. You and Declan are, what, exactly?"

More than casual friends, from her reaction. She looked up at me with those gold eyes and her answer was obvious. "I, uh, we're, uh . . . . . . "

"Never mind. Doc Thomas has already seen him. He should be at Milt's office by now. Go. I'll get somebody else here."

She got up from the table and took the coffee pot back. "Thank you. Is Zeke alright?"

I'd rather not be the one to answer that. "Go. Now."

She took the coffee pot back to the kitchen and said something to another girl. Probably something like "Wait on that idiot, would ya?" and then hurried out the way I'd just come in. The girl she'd spoken to came over.

"Breakfast, Mister?"

"Bacon and eggs, potatoes, toast, more coffee. Please." What? Shooting always makes me hungry when it's not me that gets shot. Besides, the last time I'd eaten was – let's see, must have been about six last night. At least she was paying attention, because she was back in just a minute with the coffee pot.

I'd done my duty for the morning and sent Declan's girl off to fuss after him. When had all this come about? And just what was it that had happened? In a little more than two hours I'd won a poker game, had my life threatened, removed the trail dust, had a shave and haircut, been part of a murder scene, and gotten stood up for breakfast. Just a normal couple of hours.

Three cups of coffee and most of my food later, I paid for my breakfast and wandered back outside for a smoke. Reno was starting to wake up, and there were all sorts of wagons and carriages in the street that hadn't been there an hour ago. I struck a match on the hitching rail and lit the dang cigar. I had the feeling that things were just beginning to heat up. I hoped I was wrong.

One cigar and a few minutes later and I walked back down to Milt's office. There was no sign of either Declan or Jenny, so she'd found him and carted him off as soon as Milt was done asking questions. "Get all the information you wanted?" I asked as I assumed the seat that Declan had obviously been sitting in.

"No," he answered, and Milt looked about as upset as I'd ever seen him. "Maybe you can help."

It wasn't a question, but I answered it anyway. "Probably not. I already told you about everything that I know. But go ahead and ask anyway."

"What's goin' on over at the Lady that's got Declan so all fired scared?"

The second time in less than an hour that I'd been asked an odd question. "Scared?" was the only thing I could come back with.

"Scared, Maverick. Downright scared. Never seen him like that. Is there somethin' you're not tellin' me?"

I was as confused as Milt. I couldn't imagine Declan Savoy afraid of anything. What reason did he have to be afraid? "Maybe it's got somethin' to do with his lady?"

"Jenny? Can't think why. Jenny's been in town for about – well, when was the last time you were here?"

I had to think about that one. Before – no, after – no, I was right the first time. Before I'd spent the year 'lost in Arizona.' "Two years ago, Milt."

"You sure? Doesn't seem that long. Anyway, she's been here about a year, I reckon. Real nice girl. She's just crazy about Savoy. And he's crazy about her. Everybody's tryin' to figure out why they ain't married yet. But I can't think of any reason it would involve Jenny." He shook his head. "No, just makes no sense at all."

I looked at my watch. Almost nine o'clock. I had to get back to the hotel in a hurry. "I'll go see Declan later. Maybe I can find out somethin'. He wanted to see me for some reason."

"Thanks, Bart. Let me know if it's anything important, would ya?"

"Sure thing, Milt. Tell Cora I said hello."

"Yep."

I got my butt out of there as fast as I could. No way was I gonna stand up a lady – especially when I didn't yet know why her brother wanted to kill me. Or what she looked like.


	4. Nine AM

A Day in the Life

Chapter 4 – Nine A.M.

I opened the doors to the 'Reno Arms' just as one of the better-looking residents of the city was coming out. From the look on her face, it had to be Laura Sternhagen. She hadn't cut me much slack; it was barely five minutes after nine. I tipped my hat. "Miss Sternhagen? I'm Bart Maverick. Sorry I'm late; I was talking to the sheriff."

The look on her face changed from disgruntled to disturbed. "About my brother?" she queried.

"No, ma'am. About another matter entirely. Would you care to go back inside instead of standing out here in the street?" I held the door for her and she turned around. She had almost as nice a rear view as a front view.

Average height, attractive face, light brown hair, and the most spectacular violet eyes I'd ever seen. And an absolutly perfectly shaped mouth, just waiting to be kissed. But I digress.

"Do you want to go to the dining room, Miss Sternhagen?"

"Not really, Mr. Maverick. Could we go to your room?" Didn't anyone ever tell her it wasn't proper etiquette to go to a man's room? Or did I look that harmless?

"Certainly, Miss Sternhagen. Upstairs, room 15. On the left." She walked on ahead of me, and I got another look at that nice rear view. All too soon we were at room 15, which I unlocked and held the door for. Fortunately, I've turned into a neat soul, so there were no piles of anything lying around to be hastily relocated.

"Won't you have a seat?" I asked, doing my darndest to be polite. I needed to know just why her brother was so sure I was worth killing. Before he actually tried to do it.

"I'm sure you're wondering why I left the note for you."

That wasn't the first question on my mind, but it was a reasonable one. "I'm more interested in why your brother seems to have taken such a dislike to me, Miss Sternhagen."

She blushed, rather prettily. "Laura, please. It's a short but sad answer. His best friend's name was Sandy. He and Sandy grew up together. They couldn't have been closer if they were brothers. Sandy was playing poker about a month ago in one of the saloons when some card sharp cheated him. Sandy called him on it. The card sharp killed him. Billy was supposed to be with him that night, but I was ill and he stayed home with me. If he'd just been there – "

"He could have stopped it? Maybe, maybe not. But it wasn't me. My name's Bart, by the way, Laura. So what's he got against me?"

"The card sharp vanished as soon as everybody swore it was self-defense. Billy doesn't know who it was. So now he thinks everybody that plays poker for a living is a cheat, and he's out to get whoever killed Sandy. He's convinced he's a good poker player, Bart. I know he's not. When he loses, he thinks he's been cheated."

"Why didn't Milt Braithwaite know who your brother was?" I remembered Milt's words to Billy Sternhagen: "Him I know. You I don't."

"Billy's only been back in town about six weeks. He and Sandy were on cattle drives the last two years. They were gonna buy a ranch together once they had enough money. There was no reason for the sheriff to know him."

It made sense. Even the part about me. He had no way of knowing that I wasn't the gambler that killed his friend. But if he kept accusing everyone that beat him at poker of cheating, he'd be joining Sandy in the graveyard sooner rather than later.

"And your brother doesn't know anything about this card sharp? Description, name, where he was from, where he was going, nothing?"

"Not that I know of. Why?"

Did I tell her why I wanted to know or not? "I thought I might know who it was. Professional poker players get reputations, and I know pretty well who cheats in this business. Maybe I could be of some help." And get her brother to focus on the real killer, and not me.

She looked at me with new eyes. Those beautiful, beautiful eyes. "You'd help Billy after he called you a cheat and tried to kill you?"

No, I thought, but I'd help you. "Sure. It'd get his focus off me."

"Mr. Maverick, Bart, thank you. Maybe if Billy could find out who was responsible he'd let it go."

Or get himself killed. But she didn't need to hear that. "Laura, why don't you see if he knows more than he told you. He probably does. When he sobers up, that is."

"Bart, would you come to the house and talk to him? Even if he doesn't know anything else, he might forget about this irrational plan to kill every card sharp, I mean poker player, that he thinks cheated him."

"Do you think it would do any good?" I didn't, but it would give me another chance to look into those beautiful eyes.

"Isn't it worth a chance?"

I hesitated, not sure how willing I was to get involved in somebody else's problem.

"He'd feel less threatened if you'd come for dinner. About six o'clock? We live on Willow Lane. It's the house with the big willow tree out front. And the log fence. Would you, please?"

It was a calculated risk, and I knew it. Her brother had threatened to kill me, but I didn't think he'd try anything with his sister present. I was supposed to say no, with those gorgeous eyes looking at me? I don't think so. "Alright, Laura. I'll be there at six. Just make sure Billy's there, too."

"He'll be there, Bart. And he'll be on his best behavior. I promise."

As long as he doesn't want to draw on me again, I thought. I'd have to be on my toes, but it wouldn't be the first time I did something dumb for a beautiful woman. What I said was, "Alright Laura, then I'll be there at six."

I showed her out of my room and decided it was time to go talk to Declan. Maybe I could get the answers out of him that Milt Braithwaite hadn't been able to. He had something to tell me, or he wouldn't have invited me to breakfast. Once again I was leaving the bed on its own, but my need to find out what was going on and why Declan had been the target of a killer this morning was stronger than my need to sleep. At least for the moment.


	5. Ten AM

A Day in the Life

Chapter 5 – Ten A.M.

The 'Bawdy Lady' was locked up. It was the first time I'd ever seen her doors closed. Declan used to have a little house in town, but some time ago he'd written to say he bought a ranch about three miles out, on the southern road. I went down to the livery and saddled Noble, who acted like he was more than ready to go anywhere, as long as it got him out of the barn.

It was gonna be a beautiful day, and we were both happy to be outside. I wonder if horses get bored standing in a stall all day? If he ever learns how to talk, I'll have to ask him.

The house was a good size, especially if you were getting ready to settle down and raise a family. There had been some additions made over the years and it looked to be in decent shape. The barn was almost new, and it was obvious that a corral had recently been re-fenced. There was no sign of anyone, but Declan's horse was in the corral. I rode up and left Noble tied to the hitching rail, and ran up the three steps to the porch, then knocked on the door. "Declan! Hey, Savoy, it's Bart! I know you're here. Answer the door!"

I could hear someone walking around inside, and finally the steps came towards the door. It sounded like a woman, and I assumed it to be Jenny. Imagine my surprise when a small Chinese man answered the door instead. He didn't say a word, just held the door and gestured me inside. I took off my hat and looked at the little man. "Mr. Savoy?"

The Chinese man indicated that I should follow him and took me to a well-polished office. Plush and dark, I turned around to tell him, "No, I'm a personal friend of Mr. Savoy, not a business associate," but I found him already gone and the door closed.

' _That's strange,'_ I thought, but then the whole day was shaping up that way. With nothing better to do, I strolled over to the bookcase that ran the full length of the southern wall and started looking at titles. I was pleased to find an entire row of books by Charles Dickens, my favorite author. _'Oliver Twist', 'Nicholas Nickleby', 'The Old Curiosity Shop', 'A Christmas Carol', 'David Copperfield', 'A Tale of Two_ _Cities',_ and the best of the best, _'Great Expectations'._ I had no idea. I knew Declan was well-educated, but the scope of his interests was almost overwhelming. I have to admit, I was tempted by such unknown riches and took down the 'Great Expectations' volume and leafed through it jealously. As I was beginning to lose myself in chapter four, I heard the door to the room open and looked up, grinning foolishly.

"A Dickens man?" came Declan's question.

"Always," I answered. "You have a Chinese houseman?"

"Ah, Hagen. He's been with me for years. Part of the family. Sorry about all the intrigue this morning."

For the first time in a long time, I took a good look at Declan. His right arm was in a sling; that was to be expected. It was his face that caught my attention. His eyes looked like he hadn't slept in weeks, and his smile was forced and frozen. He resembled a man with a gun to his head more than anything. There was more to this story than I could begin to imagine.

"Wanna tell me what all the shootin' was about?" Declan was now sitting down behind the desk that occupied almost half a wall, and I took a seat in front of the same. His looked like a fox that had been caught with a struggling chicken in its mouth.

He sighed. "It's a long story, Bart."

"You said that earlier, Declan. I've got all day."

He opened a drawer in the desk and pulled out a brandy bottle and two glasses. After struggling to remove the stopper from the bottle, I reached across the desk and did it for him, pouring both glasses. Just because I poured it didn't mean I intended to drink it. When a man is about to unspool a tale and needs a shot of brandy at ten o'clock in the morning to do so, you accept the glass he's poured or had poured for you, whether you drink it or not.

"There's a lot about me you don't know. My parents were determined that I was gonna do something meaningful with my life, so they sent me to school in New York. That's where I started the book collection. They thought maybe a lawyer, but I had other ideas. I always wanted a saloon, and I wanted as far away from the east as I could get. When I was twenty years old I couldn't stand it anymore, and I married a woman old enough to be my mother.

"We came west and started a new life. I started a new life. Jacqueline wouldn't let go of the old one, and we grew apart. One night I'd had too much to drink and we slept together again, which we hadn't done in a long time. Late in life she found we were going to have a baby, but the child died soon after birth. Jacqueline got more and more irrational, and I finally had to have her committed. She's been in an asylum the last five years, Bart. Everybody wonders why I don't marry Jenny – Jacqueline is the reason why.

"Jenny knows. I told her when we first realized we were in love. But nobody else knew except Zeke. One night after we closed the saloon we were talking about the situation. Somehow, some low life found out about my 'wife'. I was being blackmailed by Baxter.

"Then I was notified that Jacqueline had taken a turn for the worse. She's stopped eating. The doctors say it's only a matter of time until she's gone. I know it sounds cold, Bart, but it'll be the best thing for both of us. I know how she feels. I was dead inside until I met Jenny. She's brought me back to life."

He stopped and attempted to pour himself another brandy. I gave him my full glass. Declan drank it straight down and continued. "Baxter came by this morning to collect his payment. I told him it would be his last, that Jacqueline was fading and that Jenny and I could soon be married. He just laughed and said if I quit paying him he'd tell the whole town about Jacqueline and that I'd deserted her to be with Jenny."

He stopped talking again and just sat there, looking about as sorrowful as I'd ever seen him. It all made sense except for one thing. Zeke.

"What was Zeke doing in your office, Dec? Why was he involved?"

Declan got up from behind the desk and walked over to the window, which was covered by thick, heavy drapes. He opened those and light flooded the room, changing the whole feeling. What had been dark and foreboding became suddenly bright and cheerful, and it made me think of Declan's two relationships. Jacqueline, gloomy and closed off, and the effervescent and lively Jenny, who made things glow with cheerful sunlight. From hell to heaven.

When Declan resumed his tale and its telling, there was a different tone to his voice. One of sadness, and regret. "I'm not exactly sure. Zeke told me he knew something about Baxter, something that would make Baxter back off and leave Jenny and me alone. I don't know what it was. He wouldn't tell me. When he told Baxter this morning, and said it was big enough to get Baxter thrown in jail for a long time, Baxter shot him, then turned the gun on me. My mess cost Zeke his life.

"I wanted to see you this morning so I could tell you the whole story, Bart. You've been a good friend to me, even if you won't go into business with me, and you deserved to know." He looked at me, waiting for me to say something, anything. It was a lot to take in, and I wanted to word what I said carefully.

"What are you gonna do about Baxter, Declan?" I know it wasn't what my friend wanted to hear, but it was the best I could do at the moment. I needed time to digest everything he'd told me. I certainly had enough 'tales of woe' in my own life, from Caroline to Doralice, and even Pappy and Momma, and I didn't want to say something that might be taken the wrong way.

He shook his head, disappointed by my question. "I don't know. If I explain this entire thing to Milt . . . . Do you think the whole town will know? I don't wanna do that to Jenny."

"Well, Milt'll tell Cora. God knows who Cora'll tell. Yeah, I think the whole town will know."

There was a soft knock on the door, and Hagen came shuffling in. He whispered something in Declan's ear and then turned quickly and left the room. The look on Declan's face was now one of hopelessness. "Help me think of somethin' quick, will ya? Milt is here."


	6. Noon

A Day in the Life

Chapter 6 – Noon

Unfortunately, the Chinaman was right. Just a few minutes later Hagen escorted Milt into the office the same way he'd escorted me; the difference was Milt wasn't ushered into an empty room. If he was surprised that I was already there, he didn't show it. He just nodded at me and walked straight over to Declan.

"We can do this between just us two or we can do it in front of Maverick. The choice is yours."

It didn't take Declan long to make the decision. "Gentlemen, have a seat." He sat back down behind the desk and pointed to the chairs in front of it. Then he turned towards the door. As if by magic, it opened slightly and Hagen's head appeared. "Coffee, please, Hagen."

"I've got a lot more questions, Savoy," Milt began. "You got anything stronger than coffee?"

Declan reached back into the drawer and pulled out the brandy. Milt's eyes lit up; Declan was famous for the spirits he kept in supply everywhere. "Bart?"

I reached over and opened the liquor again. In just a few minutes Hagen returned with a tray carrying three cups and a coffee pot. Before I had a chance to do anything he set the tray on the desk and poured two half cups of coffee and a full cup. The half cups were then filled the rest of the way with the brandy; he handed the full cup of coffee to me. How did he know? I don't have any idea.

"You didn't have any answers for me this morning, Declan. Are you gonna be a little more obliging now?"

Declan put his coffee cup down before he answered. "I'm sorry, Milt, there were other people that needed to hear from me before I told you everything. But I'm ready to answer your questions now as best I can."

"Who's this Baxter?"

Declan looked amused. "That's easy to answer. A scum, a lowlife, a card cheat and a blackmailer."

Milt heard a word that attracted his attention. "A blackmailer?"

The man being questioned nodded. "Yep, a blackmailer."

It didn't sound like the Sheriff was gonna let it go. "Who and what?"

"Me and – "

That's when I butted in. "A private matter, Milt. What it involved is irrelevant. It wasn't about anything illegal."

"Is that true, Savoy?" The sheriff in him wanted confirmation.

"Yeah, Milt, that's true. It was private but legal."

"Why was he there this morning'?" Milt poured another cup of half-and-half.

"To collect, what else?" The tone in Declan's voice was one of amusement, but his eyes were wary.

"And why was Zeke in there with you? Wasn't it private from him, too?"

"Zeke knew all about it."

Milt was quiet for a minute, trying to decide what to ask next. "Zeke knew about this private matter but you won't tell me?"

Time for 'Bart to the rescue' again. "Milt, I have one word for you, and it's meant in the nicest possible way. Cora."

The Sheriff turned to look at me and the light went on. "Oh. Oh yeah. I see what you mean. Okay, but why was Zeke in there with you this morning?"

Declan's turn. "Zeke had come into possession of some information about Baxter that he was sure would get Baxter to back off. He was gonna use it against the blackmailer."

"What kind of information?"

Now it was Declan's turn to refill his cup, and I did it for him. Another half-and-half for him, too. "I don't know, Milt. He didn't tell me. When Zeke told Baxter he had something damaging on him, Baxter shot him. I reached for my gun and he shot me, too. Then he ran."

"Is Baxter his first or last name? And what does he look like?"

The saloon owner picked up his cup and walked over to the window. He hesitated, obviously thinking. "About his name, I don't know. His description – medium height, brown hair, mid-forties, dresses well, and oh yeah – he's left-handed."

"Left-handed?"

"Yep, left-handed."

Who did I know that was left-handed? Not a soul that I could think of. I certainly knew some of the scum in this world, but nobody that low. Nobody that immediately came to mind. While I was still trying to puzzle this out, Milt turned to me.

"Did you know all of this?"

"This morning when I talked to you? No, Milt, I didn't." I don't know if he believed me or not, but at least it was the truth.

He shifted his attention back to Declan. "Any idea where this jackass hides out?"

I almost laughed. Milt hadn't said "lives" but rather "hides out." At least we were all in agreement that this was a snake of the lowest order.

"No, Milt I have no idea. If I did I might've tried to handle this myself. Zeke was a whole lot more than just a bartender to me, he was a friend."

Milt stood up and got ready to leave. If he had any more questions they'd been forgotten in the coffee/brandy haze that hung over him. He seemed a whole lot more placid than he had when he first got here. "Alright Declan, Bart, that's it for now. If I think of anything else I know where to find you. Maverick, don't leave town just yet. I may want you for somethin' else."

As if on cue, Hagen appeared behind the recently opened door, ready to escort Milt out. The two of them disappeared and the door closed again. Declan sat back down and let out a deep breath. "Thanks, Bart."

"What for?"

"For steppin' in at just the right time. If it was just me I'da told him the whole thing. But I didn't wanna do that to Jenny. I don't care what people think a me, I'm just a saloon owner. But Jenny – she doesn't need all that gossipin' those woman do. Especially with her folks gettin' ready to come out here."

"I wasn't sure Milt would let it go that easy," I confessed. "He can be stubborn when he wants to be."

Declan laughed out loud. "That's putting it mildly. But that's what makes him a good sheriff. If there's any way to flush Baxter out of his hole, Milt'll do it." It looked like Declan had more to say, so I sat still for a few minutes. Finally he got to it. "Sorry about breakfast this morning. At least you had enough sense to go to the diner and meet Jenny."

Now I was curious. "Speaking of Jenny, she did find you at Milt's office this morning, didn't she?"

This was answered with a friendly chuckle. "Oh yeah, she found me."

"You know we weren't properly introduced."

"Let's see what we can do about that. Hagen."

Again the mysterious Chinaman appeared at the door. In perfect English he said, "Mr. Savoy?"

"Can you ask Jenny to come in? Thanks, Hagen."


	7. One PM

A Day in the Life

Chapter 7 – One P.M.

It was a few minutes before Jenny entered the room. She came in by herself, without Hagen, and it was nice to know that the Chinese houseman didn't magically appear every time the door opened.

She was a whole lot happier than the last time I'd seen her. She went straight to Declan; the two of them looked good together. "Jenny Madsen, this is the man I've been telling you about, Bart Maverick. Bart, my almost-fiancé Jenny. Now you've been formally introduced. Satisfied?"

I tipped my hat. "Miss Madsen, nice to finally meet you."

She laughed, which of course was the point. "Mr. Maverick, thank you for coming to get me this morning. And please call me Jenny."

"Actually, Jenny, Mr. Maverick is my pappy. I'm Bart. And I didn't come to get you this mornin'. I came to get breakfast after this reprobate stood me up."

Declan motioned to his wounded arm. "I didn't stand you up, this did."

"Now that Milt is gone, let's go in the other room. It's more comfortable," Jenny suggested.

I followed them. The main room was big and warm, with a stone hearth and fireplace that dominated the space. It felt like a home rather than a house. We sat by the fire and Hagen appeared again with another coffee pot and fresh cups. "How did you know?" I asked him.

"I read minds," he said. I didn't react. Nothing about the man would surprise me. When I didn't gasp or cough or respond in any way, Hagen looked at me and said, "Ah, inscrutable." He laughed softly at the joke he'd made, and then added, "Mr. Savoy."

"You have me at a disadvantage, Jenny. Evidently Declan's been tellin' you tales about me, makin' you think I'm some sort of a miscreant. But I've heard nothin' about you so far."

She blushed, followed by a lilting laugh. "There's not a lot to tell. Farm girl comes to the big city, meets saloon owner, falls in love. End of story."

"Oh, I think there's more than that. You don't happen to have a sister, do you?"

"As a matter of fact, I do," she started. When I looked interested she threw in the punchline. "She's ten years old."

We all laughed, and then I asked the obvious question. "What are you gonna do for a bartender?"

"I'd do it myself, but I'm a little handicapped," Declan answered. "That somethin' you can do, Bart?"

"No no no no no," I answered quickly. "My experience behind the bar consists of finding the coffee pot."

"I've got Donny comin' in this afternoon. Guess I'm gonna haf'ta hire a bartender. You know anybody, Jenny?"

"Not a soul, Declan. Nothing but women at the diner."

"Maybe it's time I hired a woman bartender."

"Now there's a thought, Declan. Might help business if you get the right one." They both looked at me like I was crazy. "I could help you look for one." There was dead silence in the room. "It was a joke," I told them. "But maybe it's not such a bad idea."

"Couldn't hurt," Declan declared.

"Could you hire an ugly one?" Jenny asked.

"Jenny, they're all ugly compared to you."

I'd had enough for one afternoon. "I need to go back to town," I told them in all seriousness. "I could stand some sleep."

"Say, Bart, how about dinner tonight? You could join us at the club," my wounded friend offered.

"Sorry, Dec, I've got an appointment for dinner at six o'clock."

"Break it," Declan suggested.

"Her name's Laura," I answered, "and she's got violet eyes." He didn't need to know the real reason for the engagement.

"Aha, never mind," Declan came back, "that sounds like it's right up your alley."

"It is, I hope."

I got up and tipped my hat to Jenny. "Nice to actually meet you, Jenny. See what you can do about keepin' him still for a while, can ya?"

Jenny got up and went to the front door with me. "I'll do my best, Bart. I hope you're staying in town for a while. Declan's told me so much about you, I feel like I already know you."

"A few days, at least. Long enough to give Declan a chance to try and talk me into goin' in to business with him again. Besides, Milt asked me not to go anywhere for a while. Maybe we can go to dinner tomorrow?"

"That would be great. I'll tell Dec. Will you be going in to the Lady later?"

"Maybe." I grinned at her. "It depends on Laura."

"You're as bad as he said you were!"

"No, actually, I'm worse." I scooted out the front door and Noble whinnied at me. The horse has no patience.

We'd gone about half the distance back to Reno when I got the feeling that somebody was watching me. I tried to look around without being obvious and noticed a small stand of trees to the west. A flash of something caught my eye and I pulled Noble up sharply, but not quite fast enough. I heard the crack of a rifle and felt the sting in my left arm before I had a chance to do anything. I dragged my Colt out of its holster, switched the reins to my other hand and aimed Noble right at the trees. I fired two or three shots in that general direction and saw some kind of movement behind the biggest pinyon pine, but I didn't move fast enough and a second bullet caught me across the left temple. That was the one that knocked me off Noble and slammed me hard enough into the ground to knock me out.


	8. Three PM

A Day in the Life

Chapter 8 – Three P.M.

She was warm and soft, and she was nibbling my ear. And her nose was wet.

I have no idea how long I was unconscious, or how long I laid there after Noble started trying to wake me up. My arm was on fire, my head was throbbing, and my entire backside was sore where it had slammed into the hard dirt. My gun wasn't in my hand and my eyes wouldn't focus, so it was doubly hard to find the Colt. I didn't hear anything that sounded like a human, but I didn't want to let whoever shot me know I was alive. My mind was trying to reason out who would want to kill me way out here, and the only name that came to me was Billy Sternhagen. He didn't strike me as the 'ambush with a rifle' type. Besides, if it was Billy he'd made an awfully speedy recovery from the massive hangover he must have had just a few hours ago.

I didn't move until I was sure that there was nobody standing over me with a gun. Right at that moment the only thing in that position was an enormous gelding. I tried to turn my head sideways so I could see the trees, but the way I'd landed prevented that. I was gonna have to take the chance and get up.

I rolled over on my right side and my left arm followed behind. I couldn't be sure, but it didn't feel like there was a bullet in the arm. Pain shot up and down it and I groaned involuntarily. Noble blew hot air in my left ear and I tried to sit up. That wasn't gonna work. I had an idea.

"C 'mere, Noble," I crooned softly, and he practically stuck his nose in my face. I reached up with my right hand and grabbed at his reins, and on the second try I managed to wrap them around my hand. Once he felt my tug on his bridle he struggled to pull his head up, and he braced himself against the puny man on the ground and pulled me up with him. The Colt was lying on the ground about fifteen feet to the north. I staggered over to get it, the horse trailing behind me, and then took a good hard look at the trees.

Whoever had taken the shots at me was long gone. I was determined to get to the trees to see if I could find anything left behind by the shooter, and that was a slow, painful walk. The effort was worth it when I found blood spots on the ground and on one of the tree trunks. My erratic gunfire had hit something, or rather someone. There was nothing else to indicate who it was or where they'd come from or gone to.

Mounting Noble presented a difficult task. I got my left foot in the stirrup and grabbed the saddle horn with my right hand, holding tight and praying. I'd had a similar situation that night long ago in Carson City, with my guts spilling out into my hand, and I'd managed to mount that night. 'Steady, boy, steady," I urged Noble as I gathered all my strength to pull myself up one-handed. Finally I was ready, and Noble cooperated by standing dead still. It was an all-out effort at best, but I managed to get my body and leg up and into the saddle. It was then that I realized my hat was somewhere other than on my head. Good thing I'd just bought a new one. Getting this one back wasn't worth the effort it would have taken.

We walked the rest of the way back to town, every step a painful jolt. By the time we finally arrived back in Reno the arm hurt so bad that I didn't even notice the pain in my head or the small trickle of blood that ran down my face. I rode straight to Doc Thomas's office. He must have been looking out the window because he hurried outside to help me down.

"What the hell happened to you?" he asked as if it wasn't already apparent.

"I cut myself shavin', Doc," I answered.

"Yeah?" Doc wasn't buyin' that. "Just what were you shavin'?"

"Just hold steady, would ya?" I asked before swinging my right leg back over the saddle and sliding down the side of my horse. Not much easier getting off than getting on. I'd been concentrating so hard on keeping my feet in the stirrups that I didn't notice how lightheaded I was until those feet touched solid ground. I swayed and leaned into Noble with my right side, my left arm hanging limply. I couldn't even tell Doc exactly where I'd been hit anymore; the dang thing throbbed from shoulder to fingertips.

"Come on, brave man, lets get you inside. I need to see what's goin' on under that shirt."

Speaking of shirts, I looked down at this one. Between the bullet and the ground, the sleeve was pretty well shredded. I sighed. No wonder I bought as many as I could find whenever I ran low. Looked like I was gonna be due for another buying spree soon.

Doc had nobody in his office, so we went straight to the exam room and he just cut the sleeve off. He poked and prodded for a few minutes while I sat with gritted teeth and waited for his pronouncement. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. Looks like you're lucky. I can't see a bullet. Feel anythin' in there?" and he maneuvered my arm in a circle.

"Ouch, Doc, can ya quit that? It hurts. No, it doesn't feel like there's anything in there. You're the doctor, you got an exit wound?"

"Oh, whoops. Got the wrong glasses on. No wonder I can't see straight. Here, let me look again."

Doc changed glasses and twisted me around again. "Still hurts, Doc."

"Nah, clean through. Rifle?"

"Sounded like one," I answered him. "Where is it?"

"Can't you tell?" he sounded incredulous.

"Doc, you ever been shot before?"

Doc Thomas looked at me like I was crazy. "Of course not."

"So you don't know that it hurts from top to bottom?"

"Well, yeah, I guess it would."

"So I still don't know where he got me."

"Ah ha. Below the shoulder, right in the fleshy part of the arm. Or what would be the fleshy part of the arm, if you had any flesh to spare. Anybody ever tell you to eat?"

Laughing hurt, but I laughed anyway. I'd heard it my whole life. People insisting that I eat more was nothing new.

Without warning, Doc grabbed my chin and turned my head so he could see the unwanted crease in my scalp better. "Easy, Doc. A little warnin' would be nice."

"Sit still. I need to clean this up. You sure are a good bleeder."

I sat as instructed and Doc wiped the blood off my face. He needed a course in 'easy', cause he sure wasn't. Then he put something sticky on the wound and followed that with a small bandage. Once completed, he turned his attention back to the arm.

"Needs a couple stitches," he pronounced, and I groaned. I hate stitches, and I've had enough to qualify as Frankenstein's Monster. Bret insists that I'm held together with stitches, and I think he may be right. I had a momentary reprieve as Doc prepared his instruments of torture, then he turned back to me. "Want some whiskey?"

I was about to tease Doc about forgetting that I didn't drink, and then I realized it had been several years since he'd had to stitch me up. I wondered what he'd think if he saw all my scars? Mary Shelley's creation flashed through my mind again, and I finally remembered to answer, "No, thanks."

"Hold on," Doc warned, and I took a deep breath. Stitches aren't the most painful thing in the world, but they're not the most pleasant, either. Especially with nothing to take the edge off. I felt the needle go in and gritted my teeth.

Just about the time Doc went to make the second stitch, Milt came bursting in. "Maverick, what happened?"

Doc jumped about a foot off the floor and stabbed me with the needle; I let out a yelp and glared at Milt. "Sheriff? Really? Can you wait till Doc's done?"

"Sorry," he muttered and left as quickly as he'd burst in.

I turned my head to look at Doc while he finished the second stitch. "Did ya ever consider a lock on the door, Doc?" He tied the thread off. Two stitches, as promised. I let the breath out that I'd been holding onto and grinned at the man who'd just sewn me up.

"Nope. Don't need one. And Milt'll catch hell from me for that. He knows better than to come bargin' in here, even if it is you on the table. Back's done. Turn around here, ya need two on the other side." I groaned. I should have known it was too good to be true. _Two on each side,_ entrance and exit.

"You have to?" I knew the answer to the question, but I asked it anyway.

"Yes."

Same chapter, different verse. No interruptions, and Doc was finished for good this time.

"Let me get this thing bandaged. You come back here later today and I'll change the dressing."

"Whadda I owe you, Doc?"

"Some poker," Doc answered. "Haven't had a good game since the last time you were in town. Deal?"

We shook on it. "You've got a deal, Doc. Just not tonight, okay?"

"You got other plans tonight?" Doc was getting a little nosy in his old age.

"Private," was all the answer I'd give him.

"Ah ha. What's her name?" he asked with a grin.

"Now who said it was a woman?" I asked him.

That 'Doc Thomas' grin again. "Your name still Bart Maverick?" he asked slyly.

I would have nodded, but I was feeling a little on the dizzy side. "You know it is."

"Then it's a woman," he replied.

Maybe I was getting too predictable. I got down off the table and swayed slightly.

Doc was right there. "You alright, Bart?"

Anything I could do to clear my head was just gonna make it spin more. "I . . . . just . . . . .Doc." The room spun. My head spun. And then I spun with it. I just needed to close my eyes for a minute. Maybe I should have sat down before I did that.


	9. Four PM

A Day in the Life

Chapter 9 – Four P.M.

There was some kind of gurgling going on around me and I couldn't figure out what it was. The sound came into focus slowly, and I opened my eyes to find Doc Thomas staring down at me. "Let's take this a little slower, shall we?" he asked.

' _Who's this 'we'?'_ I wondered. _'How'd I get back on the exam table?'_ and then I saw Milt standing in the corner of the room. "Doc?" I asked weakly.

"Too quick, Bart," Doc advised. "Let's just sit up first, okay?"

I didn't argue, just performed as directed. Even sitting, my head was refusing to cooperate. "Oh, this has got to stop."

"It will, son," Doc promised.

"In this lifetime or some other?" I asked.

"Just give it a few minutes. Milt, go on back to your office. I'll send him over when he feels better."

"Alright, Doc. You take it easy, Bart, ya hear? I'll be across the street."

Milt left and Doc watched me carefully for a few minutes. Finally he asked, "Any better?"

"A little," I told him. Some of the spinning had stopped, and the world was only mildly revolving.

"Give it a few more minutes. It should settle down. Think about your dinner engagement."

I did. That's one of the reasons I wanted to get up and out of Doc's office. I had to talk to Milt and do something about looking more presentable, and it was already a few minutes after four o'clock. I didn't want to close my eyes; I remembered what happened the last time I did that. I sat still and wondered again about who wanted to kill me. Nobody in Reno, at least not at the moment, besides Billy Sternhagen. Or was there? A persistent thought was running around in my head, looking for a place to light. It merited a little more investigation before I gave any credence to it.

I must have sat there longer than I thought because Doc had left the room and I didn't notice until he returned. "How about now?" he asked, and I took the temperature in my head. Most of the spinning had stopped and I chanced sliding off the table and standing up. Things seemed to be in pretty good focus, and I managed to throw a grin in Doc's direction.

"Better," I told him and pushed myself away from the table's edge. Things weren't perfect, but at least I could stand up and walk without falling down.

"Here, let me put a sling on that left arm," Doc told me, and I let him.

"How late will you be here tonight, Doc?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "Assuming Danny Cochran doesn't get another fever right at supper time, I'll be at home after nine. If you wanna come by the house, I'll change that bandage for you. You remember where it is?"

How could I ever forget? The last time I was in Reno I'd been carried into Doc's house, more dead than alive, after I tangled with a Paiute brave that didn't know he was supposed to be friendly. The cowboy that brought me in didn't think I'd make it if he took me into Doc's office and then went back for the doctor himself. So I was well acquainted with the location of Doc's house.

"Yeah, Doc, I'm sure I can find it. Thanks. I'll be by later."

I moved about as carefully as I could until I was pretty sure that the dizziness wasn't gonna come back, at least for the time being. When I left the office, Noble gave a nicker like he was worried about me, and I went over to reassure him that I wasn't going anywhere without him. He settled back down and I picked up his reins and walked him across the street, to the hitching rail in front of Milt's office. He looked at me like, "Are you sure?" but never made any further disturbance.

Milt was in his regular place, kicked up in the chair behind his desk, and jumped when I opened the door. "Are you alright?" he asked, acting like a mother hen.

I went over to the coffee pot that he always kept filled and poured myself a cup, then walked slowly back to the chair next to his desk. "I've been better," I admitted, sitting down carefully.

"What the hell happened?"

"I can tell you what, Milt, but I can't tell you who or why. I was comin' back from Declan's. About halfway there's a stand of trees to the west of the road. Somethin' caught my eye and I turned, but not fast enough. The second shot knocked me flat. I caught somebody with a bullet before I went down cause there was a blood trail. Not a big one; just enough."

"Who's lookin' for ya? Besides Billy Sternhagen, that is? And don't bother to deny it, I know all about his sister's visit."

I looked at Milt in a new light, and I wondered how he'd found out about Laura. Somebody had a big mouth. The day clerk at the hotel? Or Jimmy Fillmore? Or someone I didn't know?

"Nobody that I know about. And I don't think it was Billy."

"Got a reason for that?" Was Milt being thorough or merely nosy?

I shrugged my shoulders as best I could. "Just a feelin'."

"Somethin' you're not tellin' me, Bart?"

I didn't give Milt an answer, simply took a swallow of coffee. There was something, but I wasn't sure about it yet. Without further proof, I wasn't saying anything.

"Anything else I should know about Declan and Jenny Madsen?"

"Nope, not that you didn't already hear out at his ranch."

Milt sat and watched me drink coffee for about five minutes, trying to figure out what I wasn't telling him. He should have known better. I was playin' poker, whether he was or not.

"Well, get on outta here, then, I got paperwork to do."

I took my leave and went back outside. I had precisely enough time to get ready for dinner at Laura Sternhagen's.


	10. Five PM

A Day in the Life

Chapter 10 – Five P.M.

Thank God Jimmy Fillmore was back on duty at the hotel; at least I could get hot water for a bath. And boy, was that arm sore, which I was reminded of when I took it out of the sling. Suffice it to say that bathing wasn't easy and trying to dress one-handed was not for the faint-of-heart. I wasn't going to see Laura-of-the-violet eyes looking like a trail bum.

I'd just finished dressing when there was a knock on my door. "Coming," I called as I took the Remington out of its shoulder holster and slipped it inside the sling, into my left hand. When I opened the door it was Davis Henderson, Milt's Senior Deputy. Whenever Milt was called away for any reason, Davis took over until he returned. Milt had been at Fort Lincoln the night of Sandy's death, and Deputy Henderson was the one that handled the entire investigation. I'd wanted to talk to him since this morning, but he was out at Ellington Ranch dealing with a hot-tempered cowhand.

"Mr. Maverick? Sorry it's taken me so long – " he stopped short when he saw the sling and bandage on my temple. "My God, did that just happen?"

I opened the door wider and switched the derringer to my right hand. "Come on in, Davis. And yes, I picked all this up this afternoon. You haven't seen Milt today?"

He walked in past me and I closed the door behind him. "Nope, I just got back from the Ellington Spread. What happened?"

"Bushwhacked. That's not why I left a message for you. Have a seat."

Davis Henderson was still young, about my age, but he'd worked for Milt for a long time. He was fair and honest, and all the things that most deputies I've run into aren't. And I knew he'd tell me the truth, no matter what I asked.

"That night Milt was at Fort Lincoln, about six or seven weeks ago?"

Davis gave an involuntary shudder. "Yeah, I remember."

"The shooting at the Palace?" I knew it had bothered him; I could see it in his face.

"Yes, sir?"

' _Dear God, Davis, don't sir me,'_ I thought, but I didn't say it out loud. "Can you tell me what happened?" Davis gave me a look that I couldn't decipher, and for once I added an explanation to my question. "It could be the difference between life and death – mine."

"I only got the call because Milt was gone. You know Milt, he wants to personally handle every shooting. Local boy – Sandy Jenkins – got into it with a card sharp. No offense, Mr. Maverick. Everybody agreed with Sandy – the gambler was cheating – but Sandy handled it wrong. Looked like he was goin' for his gun, and the gambler shot him. Everybody that saw it said the same thing. Self-defense. End of another life too soon."

"That's the whole story? Nothing else strike you?"

"Other than the fact that the gambler disappeared as soon as he was cleared?"

"What was his name?"

"Grainger. Let's see . . . . . Ralph? . . . . . Richard? . . . . . Reggie . . . . Reggie Grainger."

Hmmmm. Sounded like one of Dandy Jim Buckley's friends. Except the sloppy cheating part. Buckley was no fool. He might hang around with all of the scum. He might even be one of the scum. But Jim Buckley would never abide a sloppy card cheat.

As I was pondering this Reggie Grainger character, I started walking around the room, forgetting the wounded arm. I remembered it quick enough when my head decided it wanted a rest and laid down on the job – I staggered and almost fell, and caught myself on the corner of the bureau. Right against the arm.

Lord only knows what kind of a face I made, because Davis jumped out of his chair and grabbed me by the other arm to help 'right the ship.' He guided me over to a chair while telling me "Maybe you better sit down for a while, Mr. Maverick." Talk about feeling suddenly old!

"Thanks, Davis," I muttered, while the arm did some protesting of its own. I was baffled. There were two characters floating around this town - a card cheat named Reggie Grainger and a blackmailer named Baxter. And both of them were giving my chosen profession a bad name.

" . . . . . get going if you don't have any more questions, Mr. Maverick," I heard this last part of Davis's statement, and quickly thought of one more.

"Give me a description of this Grainger, would you, Deputy?" If I was gonna get treated like an old man I was gonna put this back where it belonged, on a professional level.

"Sure, Mr. Maverick. Tall fella, taller than you. Dark hair, light eyes. Kinda oily lookin'."

"Right or left handed, Deputy?"

"Uh, right-handed. But he wore a double gun rig."

"Anything else you can think of?"

Davis sat there pondering for a minute before he answered. "Yeah, he had a scar on his face. Underneath the right eye. Like somebody knifed him. Scar looked plenty old."

"Thanks, Davis. If you think of anything – "

"I'll let you know, Mr. Maverick. Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"Why all the interest in somethin' that happened almost two months ago?"

How much of an answer to give him? "I'm playin' a hunch, Davis. Just playin' a hunch."

That was true. Just where it was gonna lead me was the question.

He got up from his seat and walked to the door. "You know you can trust me to keep my mouth shut, don't you? I don't have a Cora at home to talk to."

Milt's habit of telling his wife everything seemed to be well-known. "Understood. Thanks."

I closed the door behind him and checked my watch. Ten minutes of six. Just enough time to avoid being late. On my way down the stairs I thought about Laura Sternhagen and those spectacular eyes. ' _Focus, Bart, focus,_ ' I repeated over and over in my mind. As I walked through the lobby of the hotel, I noticed the bowl of fresh lilys on one of the tables. With no one watching, I stole one. What? Laura was a beautiful girl. I wasn't going empty-handed.


	11. Six PM

A Day in the Life

Chapter 11 – Six P.M.

The house wasn't hard to find. There weren't too many with willow trees in the front yard. The hardest part had been getting on Noble with one hand. And holding on to the lily.

I was right on time and knocked gently. I heard Laura's footsteps across the floor, headed for the door, and her voice inside. "Remember what I told you and behave."

Sounded like me talking to Pappy. She opened the door and saw only the flower until she looked up and saw my bandaged temple. "Bart? What happened? I mean, come in."

Before I could even get in the door, she turned to her brother in anger. "Billy Sternhagen. You promised – that you - "

"Laura, stop. It wasn't Billy." She finally opened the door the rest of the way and I walked into a comfy, cozy main room. Nice size stone fireplace, hand carved settee and chairs, a friendly looking space. It looked like a family lived there. Her eyes got even bigger, if that was possible, when she saw the sling on my arm. "Don't say another word. Your brother didn't do this."

Even Billy looked shocked. "What . . . . what happened? And how do you know it wasn't me?"

"Because you're not a bushwhacker. Unless I've misjudged you." I handed the flower to Laura. "I don't think I've misjudged you."

She blushed and ushered me into the main room. "Please, come sit down. You haven't, I love lilies. Billy, quit acting like a three-year-old and sit down. Bart, dinner is almost done. Would you like a drink?"

"No thank you, Laura. I don't drink. Well, wine with dinner. Sometimes. But nothing more than that. You don't have any coffee, do you?"

"I do, as a matter-of-fact. I'll go get some and be right back." She turned and glared at her brother before leaving the room but never said anything else.

Billy could barely contain himself until Laura disappeared. "Were you serious? You don't think it was me that shot you?"

I remembered not to nod. "I don't believe it was you. Whoever shot me was a coward . . . . . they hid in a scrub of trees and waited until I didn't see 'em. I don't think you're a coward . . . . . " Billy started to smile until I finished my sentence ". . . . . . dumb maybe, but not a coward."

"Thanks, I think," he replied. He thought about it for a minute, then a slight smile creased his face. "Maybe I misjudged you. You weren't cheating, were you?"

Laura came back in the room, carrying a tray with a coffee pot and three cups. "No, I wasn't cheating. I don't play poker like that, and I don't care for people that do. Like Reggie Grainger."

"Who's Reggie Grainger?" Laura asked innocently while she poured coffee.

I waited just a few seconds after dropping the name to see if I got any kind of reaction. Curiosity seemed to be the only one.

"The card cheat that shot Sandy Jenkins."

Billy stiffened. At last he had a name to aid his search for the man he considered a murderer. Laura glared at me with a 'my brother doesn't need help like that' look.

"That's not all I got," I continued. "I know what he looks like."

"So?" Billy questioned eagerly.

At last I shook my head, gingerly, and had to take a quick swallow of coffee to cover the dizziness that washed over me unexpectedly. "No, Billy, if this is what I think it is, this one is mine."

He slammed his coffee cup down on the table next to him and spilled the black liquid everywhere. "Why?" he shouted, clearly frustrated. "Sandy was my best friend, my brother. I want his killer to pay for it! Why should you be involved?"

Laura hurried out into the other room to get something to wipe up the spilled coffee. I was sorry to cause her work, but Billy needed to know as much of the truth as I could tell him. "Because if I'm right, this is bigger than just one murder. It's at least two, and two more that didn't succeed. Including this," and I raised the sling on my left arm slightly.

That seemed to calm him down somewhat. At least now he understood that I had a personal stake in the whole thing and wasn't just in it for no good reason. Laura came back with a rag and I took it from her and mopped up the spilled coffee. I handed her back the rag and she declared, "Gentlemen, a truce please. Dinner is ready."

Billy pulled Laura's chair out for her before I could get there and I didn't know if he'd made it a competition or he had manners. I didn't care; it was good to see him do something nice for her. She was a superb cook, right up there with Lily Mae Conners, Uncle Ben's live-in housekeeper, and a longtime member of the family. When I ate so much I didn't think I could eat any more, Laura produced my one real weakness when it came to sweets – Texas Pecan Pie. Before momma died she'd make that for dessert if it was a real special occasion, and I hadn't eaten any to rival hers in all the years she's been gone. Laura's was close enough to make a grown gambler happy.

"I can't eat anymore," I finally told her. "Not and still get on my horse. And he may not speak to me as it is."

She smiled and blushed. "Laura's an excellent cook," Billy volunteered. "She'd make somebody a terrific wife."

Laura and I both laughed. I hadn't even flirted with the woman and suddenly her brother had us married off.

"Does that mean you'll let me handle this my way?" I asked. It sounded like Billy understood my way of thinking, but I wanted to be sure.

He nodded and looked sheepish. "I will."

"Then why don't you let me show you some things that might help you spot an actual card cheat?" I asked him.

"Oh dear, I was going to suggest we move back to the other room for more coffee, but I think we'd better stay in here with the table."

"I won't take long," I promised. A few minutes later I'd given Billy a lesson in 'spotting card cheats' that might help him in the future. After that, the only thing he wanted to do was go play poker.

"Leave your guns?" Laura begged, and Billy looked down at the floor.

"Alright," he finally conceded.

"And don't drink?" Laura really was pushing her luck tonight.

"After last night? No problem!" her brother declared.

I looked over at his sister. "Now you know why I don't drink."

"I don't know how anyone can stand the taste of that awful stuff, anyway."

I agreed with her wholeheartedly. And yet even I found times that a shot of rotgut was helpful, if not absolutely necessary.

We all got up from the table and moved back into the other room. Billy put his hat on and shook my hand before he left. "Thanks for everything. See you tomorrow?"

"Maybe," I answered, and Billy was gone. Laura and I walked back over to the settee and she poured fresh coffee.

"Thank you for that," she told me.

"He seems like a good kid," I answered her. "I just think he got turned in the wrong direction. Maybe tonight'll re-aim him."

"I hope so. He's been so lost since Sandy died. Like losing a brother."

I thought about my own brother. I hadn't seen Bret in a while, and I was beginning to think a visit was overdue. Last I heard he was in El Paso. Maybe it was time to do a little southern traveling.


	12. Seven PM

A Day in the Life

Chapter 12 – Seven P.M.

I thought about my own brother. I hadn't seen Bret in a while, and I was beginning to think a visit was overdue. Last I heard he was in El Paso. Maybe it was time to do a little southern traveling.

"Yeah, I'd sure hate to lose mine."

"You have one?" she asked.

"Yeah, just one of those, but I've got a cousin that's like a second brother."

"Older, younger?"

"Older, both of 'em. About a year, year and a half. Not much difference between us."

"Are they gamblers, too?" I'd swear, those eyes were gettin' more violet by the minute.

"Poker players," I corrected her. "All of us. My pappy and uncle, too. Honest poker players, ironic as that sounds."

She almost had to reach across me for the coffee pot. "More coffee?" she asked, but had already started pouring.

"Mmmmhmm." I leaned forward to set the cup down and almost ran into her; she was attempting to do the same thing. She was so close, I could almost taste those kissable lips – and my head picked that moment to decide it was dizzy again. Sometimes I wonder, ya know?

I pulled away from her as the room spun. I had to get up, to get outside into the fresh air, before I passed out. I tried to stand and was unsteady at best, then unsteady would have been a step up. I was on my feet, but I felt my knees buckle and the last thing I remember was the sensation of falling off a cliff.

I'd been here once already today, in the land of the I-can't-see-straight, but it hadn't been this bad. I wasn't unconscious, but I wished that I was. I had no idea which way was up or down, and nothing was standing still. Even with my eyes closed it all spun in mad circles. Then slowly, ever so slowly, the whirling and thrashing about started to slow down, and I waited until my head was standing still before I opened my eyes. I almost laughed. I was as close to Laura and those violet eyes as I'd been before, only this time I was lying on the floor with my head in her lap.

Bless her heart, she'd tried to keep me from hitting the ground too hard and wound up on the floor underneath me. "Laura?" was about all I could get out right now, and that was said in a voice barely above a whisper.

She was stroking my head, and that's the oddest sensation when you've just been on a ride you didn't expect to go on. "Shhhhh, Bart, it's alright. You're alright. You got dizzy and collapsed. From the head wound, I'm sure. Just lay here and close your eyes until it stops."

She had no idea how tempting that was. Even lying on the floor, I was so tired that all I wanted to do was sleep. And I knew that I couldn't if I was going to unravel what was becoming this complicated mystery.

"I have to get up, Laura," I told her, still not much above a whisper.

She stopped stroking my head. "You shouldn't," she replied. "You're bleeding again. I need to get something to stop this." She held my head up off the ground as she slid out from under me, then laid it down gently on the floor. "Stay here, I'll be right back." I closed my eyes while she was gone and must have fallen asleep. Then she returned, and I could sense her raise my head and slide in place. Somewhere between sleep and unconsciousness I felt her peel away the bandage and dab my wound with a soft cloth. Her touch was so gentle, and before I knew it, I was asleep again.

I slept for over an hour, and when I woke it was as if I'd slept for days. My head was still in her lap, and she was gently stroking it again, like you'd stroke a child's head. I stirred and tried to sit up; once again she told me to "stay there."

I had no choice. I needed to go see Doc Thomas and get the arm re-bandaged, then . . . . . I wasn't really sure what after that. I wondered if I was at a dead end. No, I didn't think so. I thought . . . . . but more about that later. I had to get up.

Laura finally gave in and helped me sit. As soon as I got upright things started to spin again, albeit at a much slower pace. I wasn't going anywhere in a hurry.

"Any better?" she asked and brushed the hair away from my wound.

"Some." As the minutes ticked by the dizziness finally felt like it was leaving, to which I thought _'good riddance.'_ The next step was to get off the floor and onto the settee, and a few minutes after that I stood, with her help. Anything that was too quick brought the dizziness back, so I was attempting to move slower.

"Where do you have to go?" she asked, and I had to think for a minute.

"To Doc Thomas' house. To re-bandage my arm."

"Sit back down," she told me, and I obeyed. "Did you ride here?"

"Yes," I answered, afraid of what she was thinking.

"Then I'll take your horse and go get Doc. You're not fit to ride to his house."

"You can't. My horse will never let you on him."

"What's his name?"

"Noble."

"Stay here. I'll be back with Doc."

"But, Laura – " and she was out the door. I had visions of him biting her; or worse, waiting until she got on him and throwing her. I never heard a sound until his hooves pounded the ground as he ran away from the house. I tried to get up and as soon as I moved I knew it wasn't a good idea, so I sat still and waited. Rather I lay back against the cushions and waited. I must have dozed off again, because when I opened my eyes Doc was standing in front of me. Laura was behind him, appearing to still be in one piece.

"Doc, I tried – "

"Sit still, boy," he commanded. "Didn't anybody ever tell you to rest and take it easy after you've been shot?"

"No."

"No?"

"No."

"Well, they should have. You should be in bed. Not – well, just not. Let me see that head."

He took a look at the wound 'on top', shaking his head the whole time. Finally, I closed my eyes again while Doc decided what to do with me. Then he was wiping my forehead down with something that stung. He bandaged my head back up and gently removed the sling from my shoulder. My eyes popped open just as Doc turned to Laura and asked her, "Can you help me get his coat and shirt off?"

"Doc!" I protested, and he shushed me.

"Laura's got a brother that's had every body part broken. She's seen a man's arm before, trust me."

Maybe she had, but I wasn't her brother. "Help me with the coat, and I'll get the shirt off," I told her. She did just that, and then modestly left the room while I unbuttoned my shirt and Doc helped get it off.

He unwrapped the arm, going "hmmm" and "uh-huh" several times during the procedure, and doing a thorough examination of his stitching, both front and back. Then he wiped the bullet holes down with the same stinging substance and rewrapped the arm. "All in all it looks pretty good," he told me as he helped me put the shirt back on and get it buttoned. "Whoever stitched you up did a hell of a job." Then he turned towards the back rooms and called "Laura, come on back out."

She did just that and helped with my coat. "How is it, Doc?" she asked him, and he told her the same thing he'd told me.

"Why'd the dizziness come back?" I asked him, wondering what kind of an answer I'd get.

"Don't know," he responded with. "Sometimes it just does that. Don't suppose I could get you to go back to your hotel and rest, could I?"

"Not a chance."

"Stay here a while longer?"

"If the lady doesn't want to boot me out, I can do that."

She smiled, finally, the first one I'd seen in a while. "As long as you don't collapse on me again."

I was happy to see that smile. "Can't promise anything, but I'll do my best."


	13. Ten PM

A Day in the Life

Chapter 13 – Ten P.M.

We sat and talked for almost an hour and the dizziness didn't make another appearance. I'd be happy if it never came back, but knowing my life I'm sure to have somebody else try to put a new crease in my scalp. I knew Laura was hoping her brother would come home at a decent hour, but I didn't think there was much chance of that. Teach a man some tricks and you've given him a new toy to play with, and you know men and new toys.

Whether I wanted to or not, I had to get up and leave. It was a pleasant hour, and Laura was a sweet and intelligent girl, but I had some rats to unearth and I wasn't going to find them in her front room. I stood slowly and I was fortunate. My head seemed to be on speaking terms with me again, and Laura's look of concern dissipated when she saw that I was steady.

"Thank you for a superb dinner," I told her as we walked to the door. "I'm sorry about the rest of it. Not the parts about Billy. I'm glad we got that straightened out."

"I am, too. Thanks for your help with that. What are you going to do now?"

"Try to flush the varmints out that started all this. Then get some sleep."

"Are you staying in town for a while?" I saw the questions in her eyes.

"A few days. Maybe I can take you to dinner one night?"

"That would be lovely."

I finally got to kiss those lips. The wait was worth it, and that's all I'm gonna say.

Once more up on Noble. I guess I should be used to this by now. The gelding looked at me as if to say "Is it really you?" and then behaved like a perfect gentleman. Just when you think you know somebody, be it horse or man . . . . . . .

I went back to the hotel and changed clothes. I wasn't about to start prowling the Reno saloons looking like 'Bart Maverick, Professional Gambler'. So when I came back down the hotel steps, I was dressed in what Bret and I refer to as our 'traveling clothes'. We look more like ranchers than gamblers. That was the impression I wanted to give as I put my very simple plan into action. Keep changing saloons and playing poker until I ferreted out one or the other of our killers.

I left the sling in my hotel room. I know it wasn't the best thing for my arm, but I preferred to go without a sign that said 'I'm the man you tried to kill earlier.' Besides, it wouldn't be the first time I played poker virtually one-handed. I wasn't going to the 'Bawdy Lady,' I didn't think they'd be that obvious. I started with the 'Palace'. It had been almost two months since Sandy Jenkins was killed there; it was about time to make another visit.

I played poker for a while but didn't see anyone that resembled either of the two I was looking for. I did pick up almost three hundred dollars in the short time I was there. I hate to leave a place when the cards are falling just right, but I was searching for something other than winning hands tonight.

After I left the 'Palace', I went to 'Lucky Lucy's' and sat through some absolutely disastrous poker hands. There was one man there that I thought might be the elusive Baxter, but he was much too tall when he stood. I was happy to leave there and make my way to 'Elmer's'.

Poker was a little better at 'Elmer's' but it was the man sitting across from me that I was primarily interested in. Brown hair, mid-forties, well-dressed, and the most significant identifier – he was left-handed. He gave his name as Terry, but again I didn't know if he was using that as a first or last name. He played a herky-jerky kind of poker game, raising when you didn't expect it and never doing the same thing twice. And he cheated, but not every hand. He was what I would call a 'careful cheater.' He'd play two or three games, losing small amounts, and then run the pot way up and win the hand. And I must admit, his cheating repertoire was quite diverse. He never did the same thing twice.

I hoped that Milt would turn up at one of these saloons but no such luck. I'd just have to play this one out by myself. I didn't dare bow out and leave to get the law; the way my luck ran 'Terry' would be long gone before I could get back. The next time he cheated his way to a big win I threw in my cards early and while he was busy double-dealing I was busy easing my Colt out of its holster and into my lap. I know better than to try and outdraw anybody, even a blackmailer like Baxter. I have this innate desire to stay alive, and I'm never gonna be able to outdraw somebody unless they're already dead.

I played it careful and slow and waited until Baxter started running the pot up again, then I made my move and bet against him. He was surprised at first but was sure he had a winning hand. I knew better. When I called him, he laid down his king-high straight and I came back at him with a full house and took the pot. Rather than gathering in my winnings I reached into my lap and grabbed my gun, aiming it under the table right at him.

"Aren't you gonna take your winnin's, Jamison?" he asked, calling me by the name I'd introduced myself with.

"Tell me," I asked nonchalantly, "Is it Terry Baxter or Baxter Terry? Or have you got another name tonight?" I pulled the hammer back on the gun. He heard the sound and looked startled. "Don't try anything. Even I can't miss from this distance."

He was smarter than I'd given him credit for. He sat, not moving, while I pulled the gun up where it could be seen.

"Sorry to break up the game like this, gentlemen, but your playin' partner over there is wanted for at least one count of murder and one count of attempted murder. Afraid we have to leave the game, I hope you'll understand." I stood and carefully kept the gun aimed squarely on Baxter.

"Bounty hunter?" the cowboy to my right asked, disdain in his voice.

"Nope, just a friend of the man he murdered," I replied.

The cowboy got a whole lot friendlier when he found out I was no bounty hunter, and he gathered in my pot and handed it to me. "Come on, Baxter, we're gonna take a little walk. My friend Sheriff Braithwaite gets awful lonely this time a night. I'm gonna give him some company."

Baxter stood up and pushed out his chair, then made a move designed to distract me as he went for his gun. I fired and hit him in the hand and he dropped the gun and yelled. "Gonna make sure you hang, Baxter. No easy way out."

No more tricks up his sleeve or anywhere else, he grabbed his hand and walked around the table. I made certain to keep him in front of me while we went to Milt's office. As we walked in the door, Milt jumped up and grinned at me. "Aw, you brought me a present. Thanks, Maverick."

"Yeah, Milt, but you're gonna have to get Doc Thomas outta bed. He's not gonna be happy with me."

"I don't think he'll mind so much about this one," Milt answered. "Zeke was a friend of Doc's too."

"You mean this isn't a surprise?" I asked him.

"I figured you were up to somethin'. You were way too quiet. Besides, he fits the description we got a Baxter. He say anything?"

I chuckled. I couldn't help it. "Not since I shot him."

"Startled into silence, eh? Well, it doesn't surprise me. Come on, whatever your name is."

"Wait a minute, Milt. Baxter, where's your partner?"

"Get me a doctor," he growled.

"Not till you give me an answer. Where's your partner?"

Milt looked puzzled. "Who's his partner?"

"Reggie Grainger. Man that killed Sandy Jenkins when you were at Fort Lincoln." The look on Baxter's face said it all. I'd hit the nail on the head. "They work as a team, don't you, Baxter? Where's Reggie? And don't bother denying it, I saw your face."

"Find 'em yourself," Baxter was not in a friendly mood.

"Good enough, Baxter. I will. Milt, he's all yours." I holstered my gun and left to tell Declan that I'd solved his problem. At least one of them.


	14. Midnight

A Day in the Life

Chapter 14 – Midnight

'Bawdy Lady' was quiet for a saloon in Reno. Everybody in the place looked as if they'd lost their best friend, and in a way they had. Zeke was well-liked by everybody in town, me included. He was the perfect bartender. He kept your glass full and spoke no gossip. Declan was leaning against the bar, talking quietly to Donny, and he brightened up slightly when I walked in.

"You don't look quite right, my friend," he commented to me, and I was sure if there'd been a mirror I would have agreed with him.

"I'm alright," I lied. "I came to give you some good news for a change."

"God, that's been in short supply recently, hasn't it?"

"Baxter's over at Milt's in a cell."

"You serious?" he asked me.

"Completely," I told him, and he decided to celebrate by slapping me on the arm. The left arm. I jumped about three feet and got a puzzled look from Savoy. I grabbed my arm in pain.

"What happened?" he asked.

I pointed at the office door. "Let's go in back. I'd rather not tell the whole world." We adjourned to his office and closed the door. I sat down gingerly, very aware of the pain.

"Now, what happened?" he repeated.

"Shot on the way back to town this afternoon."

"When you left my place?"

"Ya know that stand of trees off to the west of the road about halfway back to Reno?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Right there?"

"I don't know whether they thought I was you or they were just takin' target practice. Either way was not fun."

"You alright?"

Poor Declan, I was the one who'd been shot, but he was the one suffering for it. "Sure. Just got a couple more holes in me than I had this mornin'."

"Any idea who it was?"

"A good idea," I told him. "Either Baxter or his partner, Reggie Grainger."

"He had a partner?"

I nodded carefully. "Has a partner. I haven't found Grainger yet. He killed a local boy about two months ago. He's still out there somewhere."

"I remember," Declan told me. "Sandy Jenkins. Why would Grainger want you dead?"

"Because I've been pokin' around in the shootin'."

"Ah." The light came on in Declan's brain. "This mornin'. Billy Sternhagen. Oh, wait a minute. Laura Sternhagen. That's an even better reason."

"Better quit comin' to Reno. You know me too well."

"You know, Bart, for a self-professed coward – "

"Which I am."

"You sure seem to go outta your way to help people you don't know."

"I know 'em," I defended myself. "I had dinner with Billy and Laura just this evenin'."

"The engagement for dinner!" Declan looked pleased with himself.

"Yes, genius. The dinner engagement."

"Wait'll I tell Jenny. She'll be tickled."

"Why is that?" My curiosity got the best of me, as usual.

"Jenny likes you. Thought you were funny. And a good influence. She wants you to stay in Reno and partner with me."

"And she thinks that if I – "

"Exactly. You know how women's minds work. She wants you married and settled down."

"And Laura would be – "

"The perfect candidate."

I chuckled. "Well, at least Jenny's got good taste. Laura's a sweet girl."

"But?"

"No buts, Declan. I'm not the marryin' type."

"Back to Grainger. You figure he's still in town someplace?"

"It seems reasonable. If it was Baxter that shot me this mornin' he would have known who I was when I sat down to play poker. He didn't. I introduced myself as Jamison an he bought it. So Grainger's around somewhere. I just don't know where."

"And Baxter's not talkin'."

"Exactly."

Declan went back to the bar and brought a glass and a cup of coffee. He handed me the coffee and sat down, pulling out the ever present brandy bottle and pouring one for himself. We sat and drank for several minutes before he asked the next question. "What's the next step, Bart?"

"I wish I knew, Dec. I can go back to hauntin' saloons and hope that I find him. Or keep lookin' over my shoulder as long as I'm in Reno." I was out of ideas for the moment. And then lady luck turned down the road that I was currently livin' on.

There was a knock on the door and Declan answered "Come in!" It was Donny, and he stuck his head around the corner.

"Mr. Savoy, Billy Sternhagen is out front and wants to know if Mr. Maverick's here."

I looked at Declan. What did Billy want now? "Send him back, Donny."

In a few seconds Billy was in the room. "Mr. Maverick, I was at 'Stella Ross' playin' poker when somebody new came and sat in at one of the other games. That real fancy cheatin' trick you showed me – he was doin' that. It was so slick – he was almost as good as you. He's still there playin'. Come back with me?"


	15. One AM

A Day in the Life

Chapter 15 – One A.M.

Could we be this lucky? I only know of two other people that can do the hidden rose – at least that's what Pappy's always called it – and I'm related to both of 'em. So I wasn't inclined to believe that's what Billy'd actually seen. But if it was close enough for Billy to think he saw it – maybe the person performing it was our other killer, Reggie Grainger. I grabbed my hat and pushed Billy out the door. Declan followed close behind. "Have you got a gun?" I queried my if-only-wishing-could-make-it-so partner. Declan usually didn't carry one, but tonight he looked at me and smiled assent.

We followed Billy back to 'Stella Ross' and watched as he made his way through the crowd and observed the game at a particular table. Unless I missed my guess, we had our man. Dark hair, longish in back, with odd looking eyes, too light in coloring to fit with the rest of him. And a knife scar under his right eye, long and jagged. Painful when it was inflicted, no doubt. We stood and watched for about five minutes and I saw what Billy had mistaken for the hidden rose. Close, but not quite. It was actually more like another one that Pappy taught us – but I couldn't remember what he'd called it. It was executed almost flawlessly, and turned an average hand into a winning one.

I caught Billy's eye and he came back out. "Go get Milt or Davis, Billy. Tell 'em we found the guy I was lookin' for and bring 'em back here. And hurry."

"But, Mr. Maverick – "

"You did real well with that card cheatin', Billy. But we need Milt now. Go."

Reluctantly, Billy headed up the street towards the sheriff's office. Before I could say or do anything to stop him, Declan walked into the saloon. Grainger was immediately on alert – maybe he'd seen Declan before or knew who he was – and before Savoy had walked ten feet, Grainger grabbed his money off the table and was out the back door. Declan ran after him, and I hurried back down the street for the horses. Declan's stallion was tied right next to Noble, and I grabbed his reins while trying to mount. Too late I felt the pain shoot up my arm and gritted my teeth awhile I hoisted myself into the saddle. Then Noble was off, the stallion trailing behind, through the alley and around the back of the buildings. Declan was sprinting behind 'Stella Ross,' desperately chasing the fleeing man on horseback that we needed to detain.

I brought the horses to a skidding stop long enough for Declan to mount and then we were off, hell-bent on catching Grainger before he escaped forever. Noble pulled ahead of the stallion and was gaining on Grainger's mount when the killer took a sharp right turn and headed across the open plains. The ground was rockier here, and I slowed Noble down before he found something unexpected and stumbled. Grainger showed no such concern and kept going full out, and it didn't take long for him to be almost out of sight. There was only one thing he could be heading for, and that was the old deserted Fort Riley, about a mile ahead.

Declan pulled up even with me and I yelled "Fort Riley." He nodded and we both headed straight for the abandoned outpost. It had once been used to house the Galvanized Yankees fighting Indians. I was one of the Indian fighters stationed there. Declan is older than me; I wondered if he'd ever been at Fort Riley. It didn't matter; I knew the layout of the Fort inside and out. Another place I'd almost died.

When we got there it was obvious that's where Grainger had fled; the tracks were fresh. We were slow and cautious again – there were too many places to ambush us from. If that was Grainger's intention I would make sure he had a hard time doing it. I led Declan around the back entrance to the fort, the one that only men stationed there knew about.

We dismounted and slipped inside without the horses, being as quiet as humanly possible. I motioned Declan to the right, I went to the left. It was gonna take a while in the dark, but the only way to flush him out was check building by building until we found him.

The first building I entered was a barracks, not one that I'd been housed in. The spirits weren't happy to be disturbed after all these years, and the place creaked and groaned as I attempted to investigate. Either Grainger wasn't here or he'd learned how to disguise himself as a bunk.

The succeeding building wasn't any harder to identify. It had served as the mess when I was at Fort Riley, although it had been converted to something else in its later years. I was just about to go on to the next building in line when I heard Declan yell something, followed by a gunshot. I went running back the way I'd come, and when I heard nothing further I yelled "Savoy!" I got no answer.

Two or three buildings to the right I finally found Declan, crouched below what was left of a window in one of the officer's quarters. "Get down, Bart!" he warned me, and I did just in time to miss a bullet from our fugitive.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah," he answered me. "Barely."

"Where is he?"

"In the guard shack at the north corner. I can't make a move without him seeing me. Is there a back door out of here?"

I looked around but didn't expect to find one, and I wasn't disappointed. "Nope. But there is a window on this side. Maybe I can get out it and around him."

"Be careful," Declan advised, unnecessarily. I had no intention of being anything else. I'd already been shot twice, and that was two too many. The window on the side was empty of any hindrance, all I needed was Declan to keep Reggie too busy to shoot at me.

"Distraction on three," I declared, and counted it down. "One, two, three," and I made a dive out the window and hit the ground running. Declan was shooting at Grainger, who was returning fire. I got to the next building without any shots fired in my direction; I hope that meant he hadn't seen me. Considering I was dressed in black from head to foot and there was no moon out, the odds were in my favor. I crept along the front of the building, still without being shot at, and made it to the dark corner of the front wall. Getting up to where Reggie was hiding out wasn't going to be easy, and I could only hope that Declan would keep him distracted. Otherwise, I could end up with another hole in me that hadn't been there twenty-four hours ago.

The steps to the upper scaffolding of the fort's wall were hidden, for the most part, and I started up them. Grainger and Declan were still shooting at each other, and I was about half-way up when the dizziness began to come back. I grabbed for the wall and steadied myself, hoping if I stood still it would pass. I must have leaned out too far because Grainger was now shooting at me, too. This had not been a good day so far. I couldn't shoot back unless I leaned away from the wall, exposing more of myself than I'd like to. I better do something, because his bullets were too close for comfort.

That's when I heard horses coming. It sounded like two, so I assumed Billy Sternhagen and either Milt or Davis. _'Hurry, please hurry,'_ is the first thing that went through my mind. Grainger heard them, too, and he had the advantage of being up high enough to see them. But to shoot he had to turn his attention away from Declan and me, and that's when one of us hit him. I heard him let out a yell and I tried to run up the rest of the steps, fighting nausea the whole way. When I reached the scaffolding, I found Grainger down, hit in the shoulder.

"Got him!" I yelled down to Declan as Billy and Milt rode through the front gates and into the fort. I kept the gun on him until Milt could get up here. Once he did I went back down the steps, not wanting to risk getting dizzy again and falling. "Declan!" I yelled when I got to the bottom, but got no response. Why hadn't he answered me?

Billy was somewhere between homicidal and confused. "Is that him, Mr. Maverick? The cheat that killed Sandy?"

"That's him, Billy. I don't know if he'll hang, but he's goin' to prison for a long time. We might not a found him without you."

I kept walking. Declan still hadn't appeared and that could only mean one thing. And it wasn't good.


	16. Three AM

A Day in the Life

Chapter 16 – Three A.M.

When I got to Declan he was face down on the floor. I didn't see blood of any consequence, so I was hopeful. "Billy!" I yelled through the open door. Declan was too big for me to roll over with a bad arm.

Billy came running in. "Oh God," were the first words out of his mouth.

"Help me turn him over, would ya?" I asked. "Careful, careful."

We got him turned and I almost laughed. Barring anything I couldn't see, it looked like Savoy had been hit in just about the same area that I had, the temple. Just enough to knock him out. I let out a big old breath that I had been holding for the longest time, scared to death that Jenny was gonna be a widow before she had a chance to be a bride.

Next came Milt, his gun trained on Grainger, who was in handcuffs, shoulder wound or no shoulder wound. "Savoy?" he asked, and I grinned at him.

"Good as new when he wakes up. Just gonna have to part his hair on a different side from now on."

"You gonna be able to get him on a horse by yourselves?" Milt wanted to get Grainger back to the jail.

"I'll stay with him till he wakes up," I volunteered. "Billy, you get on home to your sister. She's probably crazy with worry by now. And you let her know how much you helped us catch this outlaw. And tell her I'll be by sometime tomorrow to see her. Can you remember all that?"

"Yes, sir. Thanks, Mr. Maverick. Especially after I called you a cheat. Sorry for that."

Billy followed Milt out the door. There was a groan from my friend on the floor and I didn't figure it to be long before Declan returned to the land of the awake and injured. I leaned back against the wall and sighed. Was it less than twenty-four hours ago that this all started? I was real glad I didn't have a lot of days like this one. Then I started thinking. Maybe that was the problem. I did have a lot of days like this one.

Another groan from Declan. "Are ya with me, Savoy?" I finally asked him and got a moan for an answer. I knew what that meant. I've felt that way too many times myself, including earlier today.

"Bart?"

"Yeah, it's me. You gonna stay for a while?"

"What . . . . what happened?"

"You caught one a Grainger's bullets. Parted your hair a little. You'll be fine once your head stops hurtin'."

"And Grainger?"

"One of us got him. He's still alive and on his way back to town with Milt. He's not goin' anywhere for a nice long while."

"You okay?"

"Well, my arm hurts . . . . . "

"Maverick!"

"You did ask, Declan."

"Help me sit up, would ya?"

"I've only got one good arm, Savoy."

"Don't we make a great pair?" He lay on the floor and laughed, I sat there leaning against the wall and laughed. He was right, we made a great pair. Finally, I did my best to help him sit and then pulled out two cigars. Declan struck a match and we lit the cigars. "By the way, I got a telegram this afternoon. Jacqueline passed away this morning."

"My condolences and congratulations."

"Your . . . . . oh, oh I see." He had kind of a sad smile on his face. Mixed emotions, I thought. With everything I'd been through, I sure understood that.

"How's your head doin'?"

"Not too bad," he decided.

"Wanna try ridin'?"

"If I can get to the horse, I can get on 'em."

"I'm not gonna be much help gettin' you up, but I'll sure try." I got to my feet, glad that the dizziness hadn't returned. I reached out with my right hand, the left arm pretty much useless at this point. Declan grabbed it and I pulled, and between the two of us we got him to his feet. I saw that look in his eyes and knew just what he was going through. "Room a little dizzy, partner?"

He looked at me like he'd heard something he wasn't expecting. "What'd you call me?"

"Partner."

"Partner, as in – "

"I'm willing to talk about a partnership."

"What made you change your mind?"

Not so much changed as reconsidered. "Let's just say I'm tired a gettin' shot. Remember, I said talk. Just talk."

"Man, this has been some day."

"Yes it has. Let's see if we can get to the horses, huh? I've been tryin' to go to sleep for twenty-four hours. And I'm still nowhere near a bed."

Declan laughed and grabbed his head. "Ow. Don't make me laugh."

We walked out of the officer's quarters and through the deserted fort, with me lending as much physical support as I was able. Declan walked steadier than I expected, but still leaned on me for support every few steps. Through the fort's 'back door' and out to the horses, the gelding and the stallion waiting side-by-side. Maybe that was a good way to be.


	17. Four AM

A Day in the Life

Chapter 17 – Four A.M.

The ride back to Reno was slow. The horses were tired, we were in pain, and it was almost pitch black out. I think I need to stick a note to that thousand-dollar bill I keep pinned inside my coat (courtesy of Pappy, but that's another story) that says 'Don't get shot.' I wonder if it would do any good?

We talked most of the way back. Correction, Declan talked most of the way back. About Jacqueline, and Jenny, and the 'Bawdy Lady.' What he wanted for him and his fiancé, now that they could get married. Plans for expansion of the Lady, the ranch, the town of Reno, his family. Every once in a while he asked a question and I tried to answer as best I could, but the lack of sleep finally had a good strong grip on me, and if I could have slept sitting in the saddle I would have.

Until he asked me a question I wasn't prepared for. "What do you want, Bart? If you could have anything, what would it be?"

A lot of things came to mind, but nothing I could put into words. And in the end, I guess it all boiled down to one thing. "I really don't know, Declan. Maybe that's why I keep movin' around."

"How do you know you won't find it if you stay in one place for a while?"

Hmmm. A good question. "Actually, I don't. I just know that after a while the urge to move on is so strong I can't ignore it."

That ended the conversation and left me something I hadn't been for a while, now. Wide awake.

Reno was in sight. The very faintest hint of light was peeking through the night sky, and my stomach let me know it would like to be fed, thank you. "Breakfast?" I threw out the word, to see what kind of reception it got.

An enthusiastic one. "At the diner?" Declan queried. "Jenny's workin' today. I'll take ya to breakfast and we can discuss the partnership. Twenty-four hours late, but a whole lot better than it woulda been yesterday."

"With lots of coffee," I suggested. And we ended the trip in silence.

The streets were empty; most everyone in Reno was sound asleep. Like I said yesterday, Reno was slow to wake up, still recovering from not sleeping the night before. Sleep, that elusive thing I hadn't been able to get any of. I made myself a promise that I was going back to my hotel room as soon as breakfast was done.

We rode up to the diner just as they were opening. Declan was as slow getting down as I was. "Sure you don't wanna see Doc Thomas first?" I asked.

"Naw, he's just gonna wipe it down with somethin' that stings and tell me to go rest. Does it look bad?"

"Nope," I answered him. "At least to me. Jenny won't be happy with you."

He laughed and then regretted it, again. "Jenny'll be happy I'm alive. And that this whole mess with Jacqueline and Baxter is over. She knows who she got involved with; I'm no angel, never have been. She seems to like me this way."

"Yeah, she must," I answered as Miss Jenny Madsen came running out the diner's doors and threw her arms around my would-be partner.

She spotted the remains of the scalp wound and pulled back to throw a glance at me. "Can't trust you either, can I?"

"That would be a no, ma'am, you can not," I answered honestly. "Did you expect to?"

She giggled, delightfully. "One can always hope, can't they?"

We walked back into the diner, the three of us, and there was a round of applause from the girls. Jenny looked sheepish. "I told them we were getting married," she admitted.

"Well, honey, that's no secret," her fiancé answered her. "You better bring a coffee pot over, Bart and I got a lot a talkin' to do."

I groaned. My mind was still set on sleep, even if it wasn't gonna get any right now.

So for the next hour I listened to Declan Savoy lay out his plans for the expansion of the 'Bawdy Lady' saloon while I ate what passed as breakfast. And drank so many cups of coffee that I lost track. His plans were vast and sprawling. By the time we got done, if we followed them exactly, we'd have the biggest saloon in Reno, with more than just poker and liquor available. Declan wanted to add faro, roulette, a stage for shows, and a second bar at the other end of the building. He proposed buying the storefronts on either side of the Lady and expanding outward that way. Finally I could listen to no more and stopped him. "Declan, how much money do you think I have?"

"The money's not important, Bart. I think I've got almost enough to do all of this on my own. What I want is your expertise on how to set it up. What to make it look like. How it should feel, what's gonna draw the biggest crowds. You've been all over the country and seen all sorts of places. You know what kind of dealers to hire, who's honest and who's not, and what color hair the girls should have. That's what I need. I'm no good at any of that."

"And what am I supposed to do while the construction is being done?"

He'd thought about all this before. "Whatever you want. Stay here, go somewhere else. It doesn't matter, as long as you can get back when it's time to set everything up."

"How long is all this gonna take?"

"The building should take about six or seven weeks. Maybe eight if we get any rain this year. So that gives you almost two months to do whatever you want. Then – the real work starts."

"It's an awfully big project, Declan."

"But it's gonna be so fine when it's done, Bart."

"I don't know, Dec. It might be more than I wanna get involved in."

"We don't have to start right now. Jenny wants to get married as soon as possible, and she's waited so long for me. I want it, too. That's gotta come first. Will you think about it, Bart?"

I nodded very carefully. "I will, Declan. I said I would, but if I don't get outta here and get some sleep nothin's gonna happen. I couldn't decide what socks to put on right now if I had to."

He laughed at the joke, which is what I intended. Truth was, if somebody asked me my name I wouldn't know what to answer. I thanked Declan for breakfast, kissed Jenny on the cheek and stumbled outside. Noble looked the way I felt, and I didn't have the heart or the wherewithal to mount him for the trip to the livery. I walked him back and left him with George, requesting a complete rubdown and an extra bucket of feed. Noble watched me the whole time and nickered before I left as if to say "Thanks, boss!"

I headed back to the 'Reno Arms', beyond exhausted. Sleep was the only thing in my immediate future.


	18. Six AM 2

A Day in the Life

Chapter 18 – Six A.M.

Like I said when this whole thing started twenty-four hours ago, it's a God-awful time of the morning. Or in my case, it's a God-awful time of yesterday morning.

I stopped at the front desk to see if Jimmy Fillmore had any messages for me. There was a note left several hours ago. Of course there was. I opened it up right then, to see if I had to hide from someone looking for me or not. It was from Laura. _'Dear Bart – Thanks so much for the help you gave Billy with the Sandy Jenkins murder. He's like a new man, so much happier and more peaceful now that he knows Sandy will get some justice. And I'm happier, too, knowing that you helped a stranger when you didn't have to. You have my eternal gratitude. I can't wait to see you again. Laura.'_ I folded the note and put it in my pocket. I was going upstairs and I didn't want to be disturbed for man nor beast, and I let Jimmy know that.

Climbing the steps was the hardest thing I'd done in weeks, bar none. It was easier to get on my horse one-handed and wounded than go up the twenty-six steps to the second floor. I stumbled into my room and immediately said, "Hello, old friend," to the bed. Hat and jacket off, followed by the gun belt and the boots. That was as far as I had the strength to go; any article of clothing left on me was going to be slept in.

The gun belt occupied the pillow next to me in the bed. I didn't even have the energy to tell it good-night. I don't think five seconds had passed before I was asleep.

I slept for I don't know how long when I heard a persistent knocking on the door. Followed by an unfamiliar voice calling me. "Mr. Maverick. Mr. Maverick. Jimmy said you were here. Please answer the door, Mr. Maverick."

I opened my eyes and groaned, then pulled out my pocket watch and looked at it. Not quite seven thirty in the morning. I was going to ignore the knocking until the same voice said, "Please Mr. Maverick. I have an urgent telegram for you."

The End


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